


Burning the Brushwood

by Thette



Series: Strange little ficlets [14]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Cabin Fic, Finland (Country), Fluff, Fondling, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Nudity, Sauna, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, mild and joking fat shaming, shark week, the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-07 00:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15897207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thette/pseuds/Thette
Summary: The best thing about Finland, Mick insisted, was the saunas. Nothing better on a cold winter night than to steam his aching body. He could sit in there for hours, until Snart started worrying about his “hydration, Mick.” Eh, he had beer. Naked, warm, with beer. Couldn’t get any better. No way he’d roll in the snow or dip himself in ice water, though. That was just ridiculous. Not even Snart took ice baths.(This is literally nothing but fluff.)





	Burning the Brushwood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SophiaCatherine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaCatherine/gifts).



> For SophiaCatherine, who wanted Len in pajama pants watching shark week. Betaed by eliisthecool.

The best thing about Finland, Mick insisted, was the saunas. Nothing better on a cold winter night than to steam his aching body. He could sit in there for hours, until Snart started worrying about his “hydration, Mick.” Eh, he had beer. Naked, warm, with beer. Couldn’t get any better. No way he’d roll in the snow or dip himself in ice water, though. That was just ridiculous. Not even Snart took ice baths. The second best thing was the Finns. Nobody wanted to talk to them or bother them in any way, and Mick could perform the few required politeness phrases with nothing but grunts and mutterings, and people seemed to understand him.

Two weeks ago, they had stolen a painting from the Ateneum in Helsinki, a beautiful painting of farmers slashing and burning on the Finnish mountains. Their fence had gone underground before making the transfer, the rat, though Mick wouldn’t mind keeping this one. He loved watching the fire, even if it didn’t move like a real fire.

So, two weeks later, they were stuck hiding in someone’s hunting and fishing cabin by a small lake, two miles from the closest neighbour and ten miles from the closest grocery store. (They’d pretty much emptied the beer fridge last time they went shopping.) Mick couldn’t complain. It was peaceful, and he got to watch the fireplace every night, and take as many sauna baths as he wanted. The owner had prepared for the winter, with plenty of firewood in neat stacks.

Mick rinsed off by pouring water from the steam bucket over his head and dried himself off with a well-worn towel. Warm and cosy. His scars were softer than usual, giving him back almost his full range of movement, and the old aches were mostly gone, just a twinge in his left shoulder remaining, where he had been shot twenty years ago. He considered getting dressed, but they were going to bed soon anyway, so he just tied a towel around his waist. Free range balls, the best balls.

He smiled at the picture that greeted him when he got into the main room of the cabin. The fire painting leaned against the back wall. On the sofa, the dangerous criminal known as Captain Cold sat cuddled up in hand-woven wool blankets, wearing a fleece hoodie, pajama pants with Smurfs on them, and knitted wool socks. He looked so soft, Mick couldn’t resist pulling the hood down to kiss the top of his head.

“Warm enough, Snart? Or d’ya want a sauna, too?”

The TV in the main room of the cabin must have been from the seventies, or even earlier. It was small and plastic, with a noisy tube and a bulging screen, and the image wasn’t exactly true to color. Just like it had been when they were kids. It was hooked up to a small satellite dish, and sometimes they got real, actual channels. Today, they got Discovery.

“Hush, Mick. It’s Shark Week.”

A great white shark, looking tiny on the screen, was sloppily chomping on a seal, and Mick dropped the towel as he crawled in under the blankets by his partner’s side.

“That reminds me, we’re almost out of meat,” Snart said, dragging Mick up to rest on his chest.

“Hey, asshole, I’m not just a piece of meat,” Mick objected, reaching up to kiss along Snart’s now bare neck.

“Was talking about the seal. Nobody wants your fat ass anyway,” Snart deadpanned, but Mick recognized the sparkle in his eyes.

“Shut up, you love my fat ass.”

Snart didn’t reply, but his talented fingers started groping Mick, moving slowly between his crack and his balls. Yeah, he loved Mick’s ass, even though he had seen the slow descent from perky to flabby. Mick took advantage of Snart’s pajama pants to stroke his dick through the soft fabric. He had no plans to go any further. All he wanted was to cuddle up with his partner and enjoy some light fondling.

Snart got distracted by the screen, where a shark flopped up onto a tourist boat and people screamed.

“Mick, Mick, Mick,” he said, gently slapping Mick’s chest in excitement.

“Oh, look, a shark,” Mick snarked and Snart pouted. Oh, he’d never admit it, but those nice and soft lips gave him the cutest pout. Once Snart was done being petty, he put those lips to use gently kissing Mick’s temple.

“Make me hot cocoa?” he asked, almost nice, and Mick just couldn’t deny him anything.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The painting is called [Under the Yoke (Burning the Brushwood), by Eero Järnefelt](https://ateneum.fi/?attachment_id=14203&lang=en).
> 
> Come scream with me on Tumblr, where I am [bold-sartorial-statement](http://bold-sartorial-statement.tumblr.com).


End file.
